“Honey,” he called. “I’m back.”

His wife ran up to him, and expectant look on her face. “Well?” she asked. “How did it go?”

“Oh,” he said, looking a touch uncomfortable. “It went… okay.” He looked down at the floor, fiddling with the keyring in his hand.

“‘Okay’?” Concerned flash across her face. “What do you mean ‘okay’?”

“Well,” he began. “You see…”

“Oh, no!” she interrupted. She looked away, hysteria in her voice. “You didn’t get the job. Oh, no. No, they’re going to take our house, our car, everything. We’ll…”

“Honey!” he said, grabbing her shoulders and turning her to face him. “No, no. No one’s taking anything. In fact, we’re moving to a better house, with a car each!”

“You mean… you got it?” She asked, calming slightly.

“Yes! $300,000 a year, to start! Floor manager.” The uncomfortable look crossed his face again. “Uh, sort of.”

“‘Sort of’?”

“Well.” He cleared his throat. “Um… Remember when I said my Marine sniper training wouldn’t translate well to a blue collar job…”